


Mala Suledin Nadas

by Arlyshawk



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Prophecy, Prophetic Visions, The Bard's Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 06:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4818572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlyshawk/pseuds/Arlyshawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Entry for drathe‘s The Bard’s Tale Challenge for September<br/>Song Prompt Given: Blinding by Florence + The Machine<br/>Rating: T<br/>Pairings: Solas x non-Inquisitor Mage Lavellan  <br/>Content Warning: Trespasser DLC Spoilers, so please read at your own risk!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mala Suledin Nadas

**Author's Note:**

> Mala Suledin Nadas translation: Now you must Endure

Her mirror glimmers, ink black and unblemished, before her eyes. An unblinking abyss that ripples with the thoughts that perturb her waking thoughts. It screams in the back of her mind, an unbearable itch that she can't reach with her hands unless she stares into the depths. She sees herself in its surface, yet beyond there is another figure, lingering behind her like a shadow. 

Alysanne blinks, watching the waking world ripple like the swirls of dusky smoke trapped in the mirror's abyss. It swallows her whole and leaves her standing in the cold. Screams echo behind her, ringing in her ears as terrible as a dragon's great bellow. And for a moment, she pauses as she takes a careful step into the world. This world is never real, it's false - always false. She buries her fear by holding her chin high - the fear of the monsters that lurk in the shadows - with the words of her late Keeper whispering in her ear, the one before her that walks forever in another world. 

_They are dreams, as real as dandelion fuzz. If you let them believe that they can fly, they will become birds, if you believe that they will be stone…_

"You are nothing," Her voice is iron, a blade that flashes bright in the dark. The screams cease with a pass of icy wind that brushes past her face, toying with her hair softly. The world shifts, warping into stone pillars that hold aloft a sky of bleak clouds and trees that have been stripped bare by cold. It bites her, frost lacing the collar of her fur cloak and stinging her skin pink. "This world has always been false, a figment, a projection." 

"And that is what is shall always be," A voice agrees behind her. He stalks from the shadows, graceful, setting ire in her blood but it does not snap - she will never snap. Solas never walks as if he is a simple man; he is a hunter in simplicity, a wolf in truth. His blue-grey are dark, dark as the sea ceasing against the coastline. He smiles at her, though not unkindly. "You require no mirror to see what lies in the truth." 

"And you require no invitation to partake of the insight that is meant to be a secret.. Solas," She fights to keep the bitterness out of her voice, but it tastes sour on her tongue. "Have you always been able to see this world?" 

A concerned look crosses his face, "Not always. Scrying is a rare art, perhaps a gift if one takes it as such." 

Alysanne narrows her eyes at him. If he is not able to see into this world, then what is he? No phantom that she has seen has taken a form that is so.. clear. Most are as real as the Fade is true. They often are distorted, the colors of their eyes are often white and their hair pale as milk. Yet he is clear, the glimmer of his armor is as perfect as the many hues of the fur across his shoulder. Her hands clench tight as she nears him to see the color of his eyes. They were often greyest near the centre and the edges were blue. Her heart jumps to her throat when they stare back at her, curious. Her blade crackles in its sheath, ice hissing over the hilt and pommel to her feet. 

_He is no more real than a crow that sings like songbirds._

"You are not truly him, nor shall you ever be," The words fall from her mouth as if she is spitting out poison and her blade flashes in her hands, searing through armor and flesh like a hot knife through butter. A part of her whimpers because it thinks he is still real, that he would be able to see beyond the veil of the mirror. She knows better than that. She is no child, she is no star-eyed girl that dreams of the Emerald Knights. 

Above her, the sky begins to crack with hair thin rills, shadow breaking through like dawn shattering night. There is a pit in her chest, a hole that goes numb to the idea of running the true Solas through. She dares to entertain the idea because he has caused a great deal of pain, yet without him - where would Eowyn be? Alysanne lets out a humorless chuckle for the thought as the heavens shatter with a peal of thunder and her world reopens into the rotunda that dances with pale witchlight and gossamer cobwebs. 

This is her world, the waking world, the one with the scarred sky. Too much of her life has been spent crawling through mirrors or pools of water that shimmer with sweetly scented oil. The hilt of her spirit sword falls from her hand, laughing as it raises into the tower. 

As she covers the mirror with the old, tattered cloth an ruffle of magic brushes her own like a cat against a leg. It's _familiar_. The scent of cedar and earth passes by her, soft as a mother's kiss, and she pads out into the Great Hall but only sees the moonlight waltzing on the walls. Alysanne bites her cheek and returns to the rotunda. The magic fades, as quick as it comes, it leaves with a hush and leaves the taste of sweet, summer wine on her tongue. 


End file.
